Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy
by Min Daae
Summary: A completely plotless, pointless, fluffic for AziraphaleCrowley. But it's different fluff...Aziraphale was trying to read. Trying. R&R. ONESHOT.


Sprawled across a white velour couch that smelled suspiciously of dead fish, Crowley stared fixedly at Aziraphale, forked tongue flicking out from between his lips every so often. Said angel was curled in a very wooly chair, a copy of Oedipus Rex open on his lap, reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

A page turned. Crowley fidgeted. Several minutes passed before a page turned again. Crowley twitched. Another and he heaved a loud, audible sigh.

Aziraphale removed his glasses and gave Crowley a slightly amused look. "Something bothering you?"

Crowley gave the book an exasperated look. "You can't honestly be enjoying that."

The glasses went back on. "As a matter of fact-" –brushing a strand of blond hair from his eyes. "I am." And promptly went back to reading.

Crowley managed to stay seated for about five more minutes, sighing, twitching, and fidgeting all the while, before Aziraphale threw a pillow at him. "Go get something to eat or something," the angel told him mildly. "You're interrupting the best part."

"Would that be the incest or the part where he kills his dad," Crowley muttered, but went.

He returned shortly with a bowl of grapes. Taking a clump, he pulled one off and popped it in his mouth, bit down and savored it for a long several moments. The next grape went flying past Aziraphale's ear. The one after that bounced off his hair and rolled under a bookcase. The two that followed that one hit him square on the nose and in the book.

With infinite care, Aziraphale plucked the grape out of the book, at it, marked the page, closed Oedipus Rex and stood up. Strolling casually over to Crowley, he plucked the bowl from his lap, followed shortly by the grape he was currently holding.

"Crowley," said Aziraphale with impeccable calm. "Thank you for the gesture, but I'm really not in the mood for grapes tonight." And he returned to the chair, bowl under arm, picked up his book and propped it open, and sat back down.

Crowley sulked, his tongue flickering in a desultory manner in the angel's general direction. However, he still managed to slouch over to the CD player, fish as noisily as possible through the CD heap and finally put on in. He cranked up the volume and pressed play. Abruptly, the dulcet tones of Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust" shook the Woolly Chair to its rockers. Aziraphale's narrow, white hands clapped over his ears.

"All right! All right! I surrender. Just turn that thing off."

Crowley smirked devilishly and clicked it off. "'Atta angel," he said wryly. "Have a grape for good behavior." He produced one from behind his back and chucked it at Aziraphale, who snatched it out of the air and stared at it.

"What exactly do you have in mind that's so excellently wonderful?" he asked dryly.

Crowley grinned and sauntered over to Aziraphale, folding the page down to a wince from the angel and plucking it from his hands to toss it over his shoulder. Another wince followed as it hit the potted plant and bounced off.

"That, my angelic friend, is for me to know and you to find out in a few minutes." He clasped his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, squeezed it once, and headed toward the door.

"I'm not budging until you tell me where we're going."

Crowley lowered his sunglasses and raised one eyebrow at Aziraphale. "We haven't gotten drunk for a while."

"Last week, Crowley."

A shrug. "Well, one forgets these things. Plus, it's such an entertaining experience."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, went over to the potted plant, picked up the book carefully and brushed it off before setting it gently on the shelf. Crowley snorted.

"You know, sometimes I wonder about your true orientation. I know they say angels don't have one, but…"

"Stuff it."

Crowley gave Aziraphale a mock startled look. "What?"

Aziraphale shot his friend an annoyed glare. "You heard me. Stuff it."

"Ooh. Sass from the angel."

Aziraphale threw up his hands and sighed. "Fine, fine. We can go and get drunk if you like."

"That's my angel."

"But only if you promise to go to an antique shop with me afterwards," Aziraphale added with a little smile.

Crowley glared at him. "That's dirty."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Fair is fair."

Crowley sighed heavily. "The sacrifices I make." He took Aziraphale's tartan coat off the rack and brought it over, handing it to the angel. "All right. You get drunk with me and I'll feed your little addiction with you."

Aziraphale reached out and squeezed Crowley's shoulder once. "'Atta demon."

The look Crowley gave him could have fried eggs, but Aziraphale just laughed tugged on his coat, and headed out the door, followed by a vaguely sullen looking demon.


End file.
